Memory Modifications
by SilverShiver
Summary: ONESHOT Hermione is Minister of Magic and responsible for all of the prisioners of Azkaban. She signs her name and their fates are sealed. Easy enough, but what will happen when she recognizes the name of someone she believes to be innocent?


**Disclaimer: Does anyone on this site own anything? The Answer…. NO!**

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****Memory Modifications****

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Fifteen years out of Hogwarts and the Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger finally felt that she had reached the prime of her life. She had the job she had always dreamed of, the fame she had only hoped for, and the knowledge to use both attributes wisely. Unfortunately, her success came with a price. She no longer had the free time to spend on outings with her friends and was rarely able to visit with her family who lived on the other side of the country. But these sacrifices she was willing to make; she had fulfilled her dreams—who was she to complain?**

* * *

"We need your signature on these papers, Minister."

Hermione looked up from her stack of work at the lawyer in front of her. It was Morrison, the ambitious head of the law department within the Ministry. He was young, only twenty five or so, with pale brown hair, neatly cut. His eyes were green and always shining with enthusiasm, one way or the other. Standing in front of her, Hermione had to tilt her head to see his full face, which seemed odd to her as he was really only a head taller than her. Even at his young age, he was extremely successful already and nearly the entire Ministry knew he was still climbing the ladder.

"What are they?" she asked shortly. She had a lot of paperwork to do and the last thing she needed was some over zealous, greedy, _lawyer _giving her even more work to do.

"A group of death row inmates," he explained. "And a few Azkaban sentences. We need your signature before we can execute the orders. And them," he said with a disturbing grin.

Hermione grimaced at his complete lack of tact. What did people see in this guy? "The new set of laws?" she inquired, forcing herself to keep eye contact.

Morrison nodded. "Apparently, the Wizengamot's decision and approval is no longer enough. As Head of the Ministry, your signature is required as well."

Hermione stared at him. "I know what the law states, sir," she reminded him. "As Head of the Ministry, it's my job to know." She took the papers from his hand.

Recently, the Muggle Prime Minister had insisted on the Ministry of Magic adopting a new set of laws concerning the Azkaban and death sentences. It had been increasingly noticeable in the muggle world when wizards posing as muggles suddenly disappeared from existence. Especially if they had ties with muggles. So, the Prime Minister had asked that these laws be issued so that _only_ wizards and witches with no muggle connections were sentenced. All others now required a series of tedious, but necessary, memory modifications on muggles before their punishments could be carried out. It was Hermione's job—on top of everything else—to make sure that these steps had been taken care of.

"When do you need these by, Mr. Morrison?" Hermione asked as she scanned the contents of the folder he had given her.

"As soon as you can, Minister. Deadline is Monday."

"All right." She stacked the papers neatly on top of her current work. This paperwork was easy, and she needed a break. "I'll do these first then."

Morrison nodded a quick thanks and left her office. Hermione sighed before picking up the first profile.

_Name: Reno Long_

_Age: 37_

_Sex: Male_

_Crime: Torture and killing of no less than seven garden gnomes_

_Sentence: Two weeks in Azkaban in addition to three months of aggression management classes upon release_

Then, a new heading:

_MM: Complete (5)_

MM stood for Memory Modifications.

Hermione put her head in her hands and groaned loudly. Easy work, sure, but boring as Hades. This law was ridiculous—it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Hermione signed her name for the twelfth and final time. With an exhausted sigh of relief she put the papers back into the folder on the edge of her desk. Then she called in her secretary.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" asked the blonde when she stuck her head in the door.

"Could you call Mr. Morrison in to collect these?" She shook her head at herself. "Rather, take them with you and he can pick them up out there."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thanks, Gina."

Gina smiled, took the file, and left the office. Not wanting to miss a second's time of work, Hermione went back to her other papers. She worked steadily for over an hour before she was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Come in," she called to the knocker. The door opened and her secretary entered.

"Mr. Morrison called and said that one form was unsigned. He'd like you to go down to the law floor and sign it quickly."

"Is there any apparent reason he can't come up himself—or send an intern with the file work?" she asked.

"He didn't say. I suppose he assumed you wouldn't mind. Would you like me to ask him to come up himself?" she inquired.

Hermione shook her head and stacked all her papers in neat piles for later. "No need, Gina," she sighed. "He'll probably insist I come down there. No worries, I won't take too long. I suppose I _could_ use a walk as well." She stood up to leave. Gina left first and as she passed through the door she commented on Hermione's solitary plant, sitting by the door.

"Did you forget to water it again?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm just so busy all the time," she muttered as she fingered the wilted leaves lovingly. "That, and I'm no good at having dependents. This proves it."

* * *

"Thank you for coming down here, Minister," Morrison thanked. "There is just one last paper. It must have been stuck to another form." He gave her the slip with shining eyes. Those eyes unnerved her; they were always happy, no matter the subject or topic of discussion. He was handing her a paper, expecting her to sign it, to end someone's freedom, yet his eyes were laughing at her. Laughing at such a serious matter.

Hermione sat down at the desk and clicked her pen. She wanted to just sign it and get it over with so that she could go back to her own office, but she knew she had to review the case.

"Let's see…" she mumbled as she began to read.

_Name: Draco Malfoy_

"Malfoy!" Hermione gasped.

"What's wrong?" Morrison asked as he leaned over her shoulder which annoyed Hermione greatly.

"Nothing," she said, trying to shoo him away. "I'm going to look over this case for a minute." He moved away a little, but was still to close. Hermione tried to ignore the feeling of those eyes watching her as she examined Malfoy's form.

_Name: Draco Malfoy_

_Age: 33_

_Sex: Male_

_Crime: Member of Death Eater gang and follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_

_Sentence: Life in Azkaban_

She knew he had the Dark Mark, sixth year had proved that, but a _follower_? Harry had told her that he hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore and that he was only doing it to save his mother. Besides, Malfoy had always seemed too independent to ever become a follower of anyone.

Of course, her job was only to sign the paper if the MM category was complete, which she discovered to be so when she continued to read it. She couldn't changed the outcome of the trial. She flipped over the paper to find the details of the trial and the first thing she saw was his face. A moving color photograph was staring out at her.

His hair, still pure blond, was dirty and unkempt. His eyes, which she had remembered as being akin to Morrison's, shining with ambition, were now dark, cold, and dead. They were lifeless and reflected defeat. A small feeling of not guilt, nor sympathy, arose in Hermione, but seven consecutive years of hatred from her youth smothered the feeling before identification.

Looking on at the picture, Hermione saw that his face was worn, devoid of any smirk she was accustomed to. Instead, he looked tired and finished. He had obviously accepted his fate and resigned himself, Hermione realized.

She glanced over at the list of details and had to do a double take. Ronald Weasley was listed as the judge of the trial. Of course there had been the other judges of Wizengamot there, but Ron must have had the deciding say. With his undying prejudice for Malfoy, Hermione now was unsure if he had even had a fair trial—even if it was for a crime she didn't think him capable of.

"I can't sign this," she stated.

"What? Why not?" Morrison asked from a few feet away.

"I don't think he is guilty."

"That's not for you to decide, Minister," his eyes flashed dangerously.

"No, but I can pardon him," she stated. She headed to her office with the form in her hand.

* * *

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione threatened. "Was it, or was it not, a fair trial?" she demanded over the phone.

"Hermione, the entire row of judges agreed that he was guilty. He had the bloody mark!"

"That doesn't mean he was a supporter, Ron. You know as well as I do why he got that mark."

"Hermione, I'm not debating this with you. He was found guilty. Sign the papers and let him go to Azkaban." He paused for a moment, wondering. Why in the world was Hermione hung up over Draco Malfoy, of all people? He was personally overjoyed that the filthy ferret would be rotting away in a cell—provided Hermione got some sense kicked into her and signed his papers. "Why are you making this into such a big deal?"

"Because I don't want this decision on my conscience if I'm wrong." She sighed. "Ron, I have to be sure."

* * *

To make sure that she was doing the right thing, Hermione visited the jail cells outside of Azkaban. This was where all of the souls awaiting her signature stayed. Then, with their forms in order, they would be placed under a binding spell and led away; either to the Azkaban fortress in the distance, or to the lone building used only for the administrations of a Dementor's Kiss.

It was freezing when Hermione advanced upon the jail, and she couldn't help but notice her surroundings. The grass was heavy with frost and as she walked through it, footprints were left where the ice had melted away. A cold wind was blowing and her hair was tossing wildly about her head. As she held it back, out of her face, she was able to see Azkaban prison in the distance.

The area surrounding Azkaban made this land look warm and inviting. Everything around Azkaban was bleak and grey, and its coldness reached Hermione from almost a mile away. The sky was heavy with huge grey clouds, threatening a storm that would never come. It was too cold to rain, yet snow never fell. The prison loomed on the horizon, forcing Hermione to concentrate back on her task. She shivered and focused once again on following the path to the minor facility of convicted convicts.

"Minister!" a guard greeted as she entered the desolate prison. His uniform, as well as those of his companions, were plain grey with not so much as a name tag adorning them. A wand pocket and a single ring of keys were the only accessories. Over his head was a wool cap, protecting his head from the harsh winds of the north. It too was a fading grey.

"I'm here to talk to a prisoner, sir," Hermione announced.

"Which one?"

"Malfoy, Draco. He should be in a holding cell—awaiting paperwork completion."

The guard nodded. "Right this way, Minister," he said. He led her into the prison. The holding cells were carefully guarded by human guards as opposed to the Dementors who guarded the further off cells of Azkaban. But even without the immediate presence of the monsters, Hermione could feel the lack of warmth.

She passed by a number of cells and she had to force her eyes to stay focused on the fading uniform of the guard as she tried to follow him, because otherwise she was sure she would recognize the face of someone she had condemned to death. She argued with herself that she was not responsible for any of their deaths or prison sentences. That burden was their own. And yet, here she was, visiting an inmate to relieve any guilt she was supposedly convinced she shouldn't be feeling.

"Malfoy!" The guard barked and Hermione saw the blond lift his head. "Visitor," he said gruffly. The guard turned to her. "Would you like to go in?" he asked with dull eyes. She shook her head.

"I'm fine out here. May I have some privacy, thought?" she asked kindly.

"Of course, Minister." He nodded and left her to return to his post.

"Well, well, well," an aristocratic voice drawled. "What have we here? The Minister of Magic to see me?"

Hermione turned to face him and was surprised, for some reason, to find the same face from the picture and not the one she had known years ago. He was dressed in the same monotonous charcoal color as everything else existing in the area. Even his eyes were grey. She shuddered as she looked at them, fatigue showing through the dull orbs. He was almost the same as he had been when she had last seen him at eighteen, except for his eyes.

His blond hair, the only color she could see in the place, and his trademark smirk he was now wearing were the same, she realized. Only his eyes had changed, but it made all the difference.

"Malfoy," she whispered, "I'm here to save your life."

He appeared interested. "And how is that?" he asked, his mood lightening.

"By seeing if you are guilty of your crime. We can either play games or you can tell me straight out; are you one of Voldemort's supporters?"

He turned colder again. "He killed both my mother and my father," he said with a sneer. "What do you think?"

Hermione gave him a stern look. "No games," she warned.

"No, _Minister_," he replied. "I'm not." He glared violently at her before turning away and settling back onto a bench, facing the wall.

"Then why are you in here?" she asked after a pause. "Why were you condemned to this?"

Draco was silent for a moment. "Granger, did you _see_ the board of Wizengamot at my trial? Fifty judges and nine of them had been in our year at school. Another twelve knew me from Hogwarts as well, and seventeen had sat my _father's_ trial. Only four met with me on an unbiased basis!"

"The other eight?" Hermione asked softly.

"They knew my name. I don't know how they voted, but if they voted innocent it was only because they wanted something of my fortune upon my release." He suddenly stood up and met her at the bars. "But none of that mattered, did it, Granger?" he asked with a slow, sad smile. "Because sitting at the head of that table, instead of our lovely Minister, was Ronald Weasley." He scoffed to the side and backed up. "I was guilty before I had entered that courtroom, you and I both know that."

Hermione lowered her eyes. "I had to delegate the responsibility of judging trials to others, Malfoy. It was too much. I didn't judge your trial; I can't change the outcome of it. But I can pardon you." She looked back up at his turned face. "Don't you get that?" She tried to get his attention by raising her voice. "I can her you out of here if you'll help me!"

"With what?" he demanded harshly.

"I just need you to convince me of your innocence."

"You'd never hear what I had to say. Seven years of rivalry is in the way, Granger."

She reached through the bars and grabbed his wrist as he turned away. "Not with me."

And it was true. If she _had_ been at the head of that trial—and she would have been if she had the time to sit thirty plus cases a month—he would probably not be in this cell. Hermione knew how to get past animosity when she had to, a charismatic skill Ron had never learned.

Draco pulled his arm away slowly. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Why do you have that mark if you are not a supporter?"

Draco bowed his head. "I had no choice. It was this," he showed the red tattoo, "or death." He looked to Hermione. "Not just death for me, though. It would have been death for my mother… my father." He shook his head at the memory. "I'm a coward, Granger. I'll admit it. I wanted to live; I wanted my mother and father to live. I sacrificed my arm and a part of my soul for them. I gave up my freedom!" he nearly screamed as he relieved years of pent-up frustration. "But all that the board saw was a red skull and snake. My reasons didn't matter."

"They matter to me, Malfoy. That's why I am here." She gave him a thoughtful look. "Why are you so accepting of this fate? Why aren't you pleading your innocence, like you could?"

"I'm not going to grovel at the feet of you nor your friends for something I already have. Just because they want to lock me up—I'll still know that I am innocent!"

"Malfoy, I'm not asking you to grovel! I'm going out of my way to help you! I could have signed your papers, thinking 'Just like his father,' but I _didn't_! I came here, to hear your side of this. Now stop blaming me for this whole thing and help me to help you!"

"Just leave, Granger. I don't need your pity," he said, withdrawing from their conversation.

"For Merlin's Sake! It's not pity." She gave him a pleading look. "Malfoy, you said you wanted life. That was how this all started! I'm giving you a choice here. Life, or a caged existence."

He turned on her. "What use is life to me now, Granger? I'm a convicted felon, pardon or no. I can't work, my home doesn't belong to me anymore, my name is marred and useless. No one will respect me if I leave here. At least in Azkaban I could be with others like me—no matter how depressing." He glared at her and then looked down the rows of cells. "Look at them, Granger. All the people you've condemned. Why should I be any different. This _is_ my fate."

Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't _have_ to be! I can get you a job, Malfoy! I can find you a place to live. It might not be your Manor, but I'll do my best. I can't have your _life_ on my conscience."

"Ah, yes. Always the conscientious Gryffindor. Granger, don't worry any on me. I'm making my choice. I gave up my pride once before and it landed me here. If I did it again—I don't know. I'd rather keep my dignity. Go back to your office and sign my papers."

"Malfoy," she cried, and tears actually formed in her eyes.

"Go!" he shouted.

Hermione flinched at the harshness in his voice but stayed where she was. She couldn't let him ruin his life like this. It wasn't right! She dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Carefully she unfolded it and showed it to him. He glanced and saw his face staring back at him. It was his mug-shot that he had had taken upon his arrest.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked.

"Look at yourself," she demanded. "You've given up."

Draco turned away. He sat down again and ignored her as she talked.

"Malfoy, I'm not going to let you rot away. You're innocent, we both know that. Now I have the chance to give you a second try. Are you listening to me? I can make you leave here, whether you like it or not. _That_ is not the problem. Malfoy? Malfoy!" She growled low in her throat. He still did not respond so she turned to leave him to wallow in self-pity—or pride.

"I've told you my choice," he reminded her softly. She stopped short before turning back to him.

"You have," she agreed quietly. She reached into her pocket again, this time pulling out a folded form. She kneeled down on the floor and straightened it out. Quickly, she grabbed a pen from her other pocket and clicked the end. She looked over and noticed him watching her, his attention caught by the rustle of paper. She focused on the form and signed her name over the bumpy cobblestone. She stood up, nodded in his direction and left without another word—leaving him alone.

* * *

Two days later a guard approached Draco's cell. He was sitting on the cold stone floor, staring into space. The guard tapped the metal bars, bringing Draco back to his senses.

"Come on," the guard ordered gruffly. "Time to go." Draco stood and waited gravely by the doors as they slid open. The guard slipped a spell over him to prevent him from running. He led him out of the cell and to the front doors. When they had exited the building, Draco stood back from the sudden light and the frigid weather that Hermione had braved a couple days prior.

Draco felt the cool air and the slight breeze blowing by, ruffling his thin uniform and blowing his fair hair. The grass was coated in a thin layer of ice, giving it the appearance of glass—fragile, but beautiful. Draco's eyes adjusted and he looked around. There were no trees, he noticed, but a few shrubs were growing nearby. He saw the small red berries littering them and smiled. Colors. He had forgotten how many there were. Suddenly his gaze fell on Azkaban and he instantly felt its shadow fall over him.

All the grass there was dead and there seemed to be no breeze surrounding the place, if there was air at all. Thunderclouds collided with each other overhead, sounding out claps of thunder across the distance. He shivered at the thought of spending his remaining years inside those walls. He was beginning to wish that he had at least considered taking his other option when it _had_ been an option.

He felt the restraining spell lift, drawing his attention back to the guard.

"What…?" he asked, confused.

"Here," the guard said, holding him a sheet of paper. Then he turned away, back to the jail. Draco unfolded the sheet of paper.

In Hermione's handwriting, these few words were written.

_At least now you'll have a chance._

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**A/N: The ending of this took me forever! I came up with about 15 different notes (this one was thought up by BooBack) and couldn't choose which one I hated the least. (Not that I hate Brittany's idea of course, I just thoughtit could be better, that's all...)**

**Oh well, I finished it (a month in the making) and now I've posted it. Enjoy!**

**Amber**


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